Pierced (Lucian & Lia 1)

When we reach his apartment, despite my weak protests, he again carries me. Sam opens the door before asking which room Lucian is taking me to. “My room,” Lucian answers and Sam walks ahead, turning a bedside lamp on as Lucian deposits me gently on the edge. Sam leaves and returns with a glass of water and a bottle of medicine. Lucian coaxes a couple down my throat and I choke on the water before catching my breath. “Sam, you can go now. I think we still have enough supplies here.”

“All right, Luc. Could you call me later and let me know how Miss Lia is doing?” When Lucian agrees, Sam walks out of the bedroom, and I slump backwards on the bed.

“Just kill me now,” I groan; at this point, death would be a welcome respite. Just as I feel myself starting to drift off again, Lucian is pulling me back up into a sitting position as I feebly try to push him away.

“Come on, baby; let me get you into something more comfortable, and you can go to sleep.”

Opening one eye, I peer up at him. “If you think you’re getting sex, you are out of your mind.” I sound like someone fresh off a two-week drunk. He looks down at me, seeming to be trying to contain the smile pulling at his lips.

“I’ll try to control myself until you are upright. Now, just sit there and let me get you changed.” Like a child, I let him lift my arms, pulling off my shirt and despite my weak protests, my bra follows next. He puts one of his soft t-shirts over my head before kneeling at my feet to remove my shoes and pants. Thankfully, he leaves my panties on, although at this point, I wouldn’t have fought for them. He pulls back the covers and tucks me in on his side of the bed. I inhale appreciatively as his scent clings to the pillow. He asks if I need anything, but I wave him away, only wanting to sleep. I wonder for a moment why I’m here. Why would he want to take care of me? Maybe just returning the favor. My thoughts spin away as sleep once again claims me.

I moan as something cool strokes across my cheeks. “Feels so good,” I groan. When a straw slips between my dry lips, I drink greedily; the feel of the cold liquid against my throat is Heaven. When the straw is pulled away, I reach out, trying to bring it back.

“Not too much, baby; it might make you sick.” Oh, that voice. Shivers run down my spine as I blink my eyes open to see a casual Lucian sitting beside me, tousled hair and a five o’clock shadow darkening his handsome face. I want to climb him like a tree and eat him up. He looks down at me for a moment, giving me a sexy grin; he seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. He curls a strand of my blonde hair around his finger, asking, “How’re you feeling?”

I lie there for a moment, taking stock of my body. The throbbing in my head is down to a dull thud, and my throat, although dry and scratchy, is no longer sore. I still feel like I’ve been run over by a car, but it’s progress. “Better,” I croak out around the cotton in my mouth. He gives me another sip of what I recognize as ginger ale. “How long have I been in bed?” It’s a strange feeling to lose awareness of day and time, and I’m desperate to fill in the blanks.

“I picked you up Monday afternoon, and now it’s Wednesday morning, so not too long.”

“Oh, shit,” I try to jump from the bed. “I’ve got a class this morning, a test…I’ve got to go.” Lucian puts a hand on my chest, effectively holding me down. Just that small amount of effort has winded me, and I lie back against the pillow exhausted.

“Not today, Lia. You’re still too weak to go anywhere. We’ll see tomorrow after another day in bed and some food.”

Giving him my best innocent look, I say, “Maybe you could just take me home then? I can rest there, and I’ll be closer to school in the morning.”

He tweaks my nose playfully saying, “Good try, but no. You’ll just crawl to your class if you are close enough. I’m afraid you’re here today.”

My bottom lip rolls out and to my horror, I’m pouting. “Don’t you have to go to work? I can be at home alone just as well as I can here.”

“I do have to go in for a meeting this morning,” he admits, “but then I’ll work from home the rest of the day as I did yesterday.” Surprised, I turn to stare at him.

“You stayed home with me yesterday?” Is it my imagination or does he look uncomfortable at the question?

“Well, I could hardly bring you home with me and then leave you, could I?” Suddenly, images of how I had taken care of him run through my mind. Oh, dear God, surely he hasn’t taken me to the bathroom. I can’t remember anyone ever doing such personal things for me.

“So…was I really out of it? I mean, did you have any trouble…taking care of me?” He gives me an uncomfortable look…is he blushing? Oh, no, it must be worse than I thought if he is embarrassed about something. Even though I’m curious, I don’t want to know. I’d rather believe I woke up from my flu-induced daze to take care of my own business each time it was needed.

He avoids my questions and stands. “I’m going to fix you some breakfast in bed and then catch a shower. I’ll be back soon.” When I hear him in the kitchen, I exit the bed as quickly as possible in my weakened state and use the bathroom. I finger-brush my teeth and consider a shower before deciding to wait until Lucian is gone.

He has nothing but a comb in his bathroom cabinet, and I do my best to pull it through my hair, wincing as it catches on tangles. Looking around the bathroom, I search for something to put my hair up with; hiding the mess is the only answer. I find a roll of dental floss and pull out enough to make a three-ply string. It’s not easy, and my arms are shaking from the effort, but soon I have something that resembles a ponytail on the top of my head. It will have to do until I can find something better.

When I walk back in the bedroom, he is standing beside the bed holding a tray. For a moment, I have an overwhelming urge to cry. People just don’t do things like this for me. It’s surreal, but so sweet I am choked up. Luckily, he blames my glassy eyes on the flu and actually clucks his tongue at me for getting out of bed. Turning away, I crawl back under the covers, pulling them up so he can deposit the tray on my lap. Holding up a phone, he says, “I picked up a charger for your phone yesterday and let it charge overnight. I’ll leave it here in case you need it.” I thank him, touched by how much trouble he had gone through for me. “You might want to call your friend Rose today; she has been blowing the damn thing up. I don’t think she believes me when I say you’re okay.”